


Hello Kitty

by mcjuggie



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, BDSM, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 07:17:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcjuggie/pseuds/mcjuggie
Summary: Jughead is a tired, lonely computer tech CEO living part-time in Japan while trying to manage a Silicon Valley company he's barely interested in. On a late night whim he walks into a costume karaoke bar in Akihabara, only to be swept away by an otherworldly lolita.





	Hello Kitty

Touchdown, Tokyo. 

Back again, and again, and again. Jughead Jones feels like he’s going a little insane when it comes to his body adjusting to any kind of time, travelling between Japan and Silicon Valley. No matter the price of the ticket and the size of his seat, he always ends up popping the same crick out of his neck at the end of the ten hours. Despite all the aches and pains, his body refuses to sleep with any consistency when fighting against the sun. 

Which usually meant a lot of nights spent up working at his computer.

The jetsetting was something his coworkers didn’t understand, and a habit his COO wouldn’t condone if it weren’t for the fact that he was  _ good _ at his job and had in fact, made them all a lot of money with a pretty flimsy idea for an app that randomizes meal purchases for people who couldn’t decide, and coding a widget that could read kanji and character-based languages in .jpgs, .pngs, and 34 other file types. These kept him up in the air, back and forth from the only place in the world where you can make six figures a year,

And then back to the only place where you can spend that money on figurines, trips to distant islands and oceanside paradises, and a startling amount of merchandise, DVDs, and manga.

It’s the third day back, but it feels like it’s been a week without the breaks of sleep. Insomnia at its peak finds him out in the streets in the middle of the night, the streetlamps and distant chatter of the bars open into the middle of the night the only things to keep him company. 

Lonely except for the few street dogs that are now scampering out, but mostly he finds himself shuffling around alone in his neighbourhood. Wandering onto the train, and towards the still bright parts of the city. Tired soul following the distant beat of the life of the night. 

Ending up in Akihabara feels instinctual. The daytime spot where he spends most of the cash he makes coding, and blends in almost entirely with the rash of otaku that are there crowding around the stacks of billboards and flashing lights. The typecast is obvious; stocky or too-lean, with a distinctly empty gaze in their eyes that sometimes feels prophetic now. 

After a rash of bad first dates and almost-relationships, Jughead was lucky to exist in the one industry where it was perfectly acceptable and went without question to not be without a relationship or a girlfriend. It didn’t mean he wanted to end up just another lonely stereotype, clinging to his scantily clad figurines and anime box sets into his lonely 40s and 50s.

The thought is enough to need a drink, so he ducks into the first bar he can find still open. Not stopping to look at the working hostesses on the pictures on the walls, let alone the name of the bar. The surroundings are nearly irrelevant; the manic karaoke-style bar with elaborate costumes on the women and neon lights on the walls. The staff singing in pretty but mediocre voices to Top 40 and old Japanese classics that could keep the crowd going. All Jughead can do is immediately b-line for a table to order something alcoholic, something  _ strong _ to send him to sleep, he hopes,

The blaring music cuts just after his drink arrives, and the maid costumed server bounces off the stage and grabs a tray to resume serving beer to the hordes of lonely men who were just cheering for her. Easily, he can see how someone could make a lot of tips with a few well-timed musical numbers. Expecting another high-tempo song to fill the audio void, he’s surprised when an announcement from a cheerful voice interrupts,

“ _ Up next is our special performer, Angel-Chan! You know what this means guys, get your tissues ready! _ ” someone speaks in high-pitched, hyper-cute Japanese and the crowd settles nearly immediately. The frantic atmosphere previously filling the place stops on a dime, and silence settles. 

He can’t  _ not _ look, as she walks onto the stage. The perfect blonde ringlets that curl down her shoulders demand it in the stage lights, as does the entirely white outfit made up of sheer silky gauze. In the tall costume heels, her legs look endless with the sheer pale white of her tights. Fitted bodice with a lace corset matched with billowing, sheer sleeves with tiny gold stars embroidered into the chiffon. 

They paired with the crown of stars wrapped around into her curls, and the golden sheen dusted onto her shoulders and highlights. Gold details were wrapped into everything, even the white taffeta seemed to glow under the lights as she took the microphone under the spotlight,

“Hi guys,” American, or at the very least definitely not Japanese as she spoke with that accent. Against the hyper-cute intonation of everyone else, her voice is immediately intoxicating to him in it’s naturally smokey timbre. “This one’s for you.” 

He’s expecting a Japanese standard he doesn’t really know, but instead he finds himself listening to a honey slow start to a rendition of indie rock ballad. The words are so sweet, but they’re nothing in comparison to her voice. In the moment, it feels operatic when she starts on the silence and the slow beats. 

Jughead is entranced as she sings louder, with more passion, and despite his memories of the song staying slow and contemplative, by the end of her performance the energy is back into the club. Somehow she gets the crowd to sing with her, and soon the hum of, “Being as in love with you as I am,” repeated by the crowd until it’s is all that anyone can hear. 

_ Angel-Chan _ walks through the crowd, and it parts for her like the Red Sea filled with longing glances and held-back tension. Singing into the microphone still along with the chorus of audience members, she touches jaws softly with fingertips and meets eyes as she crosses the entire establishment. A few interactions pass, before settling down in the chair across from Jughead.

Reaching across the table, she smiles and meets his eyes before taking the cherry from his alcoholic milkshake at the end of the song. Chewing it to feel it burst, Angel-Chan leans across the table to lay a cherry-flavoured kiss to his cheek.    
Then there’s silence as the song ends, and applause breaks out loud and excited as she skips back to the stage and waves at the audience as she goes. Tips pour in from the crowd towards the spotlight and she can barely handle it all into her arms as she tries to get all the crinkled yen. A chorus of thanks and small bows from her as she accepts the money, Jughead is too stunned into his chair to move a muscle yet. 

“She took my cherry,” he muttered to himself. While he was trying for horror at what she’d done, his tone was nothing less than impressed. 

Despite staying for the rest of the night, she doesn’t appear again. It almost feels like a hallucination while he waits for the telltale sight of her blonde hair, but it never comes. Instead he’s only left with more than a half-dozen empty glasses surrounding him and a staggering tab to pay off. 

Asking anyone where she might have gone is exactly as creepy as it sounded in his head, so he could only leave the money on his table and leave as the last of the other patrons stumbled out of the place. 

The fact that he almost runs into her seems like a miracle in the breaking dawnlight, the sight of her costume outside of the lights is no less mystical than it had been before. It stuns him a moment, 

But he has the mind to say something. 

“Betty Cooper!” he shouts after her, which is enough to make her freeze in her spot. It feels like it’s been a lifetime since she’s heard her name spoken like that. 

Well, since high school; since ripping out of Riverdale fast enough so that nobody could say the name Archie Andrews to her one last time. It had been about creating enough space to become her own person, and evidently she had needed an entire ocean of space. Half the world wasn’t enough to escape it completely, obviously.

No, she was running into her past right outside of her workplace. Of course, she was excited to see Jughead Jones after so many years apart. 

“Nobody has called me that in a while.” Betty said all the same, which elicited a frown from Jughead almost immediately. 

“Did you want to be called something else?” was of course his next line of questioning. Immediately feeling guilty, after so many years of demanding a nickname he hadn’t thought for a second his childhood best friend might want the same. 

“No! No, thank you. It’s actually kind of nice to hear?” It was comforting, or rather, he was. To say that Jughead reminded her of Riverdale didn’t really seem true, since the town had been something she had been keen on running away from for quite a while. A mother with as many ups and downs as Alice Cooper would tend to run someone out of town eventually. 

“I really missed you, Jughead.” Betty added, because it had been hanging in the air for so long. 

“I really missed you,” he returned immediately. “Not that I blamed you for leaving.” he said flippantly, and then kept speaking almost immediately. “I mean, it was the reason Archie and I left Riverdale too. Eventually... You look great.” he finished, not wanting to go on about Archie Andrews for even a minute. 

In fact part of him almost died when she asked, “How is Archie?” 

“Fine,” was his response, a little deflated already. The same feeling he had nearly grown accustomed to in High School, the one that made his mouth turn down and his arms start to cross over his chest. The one that had once made Betty nervous, and nearly defensive unconsciously. 

Not anymore. Archie didn’t control her emotions or her life, and frankly she had overplayed the moments with Jughead Jones too many times to let their childish defensives get between them anymore. After so long letting a crush rule and ruin her life, Betty Cooper was the one in control. 

“It’s late but, can I give you my number? We can text and get together soon?” It was hard to walk away, but her feet were weary and she could feel the mascara on her cheeks. It wasn’t how she pictured meeting him again,

Betty wanted it to feel right. 

Exchanging phones, he takes a moment to appreciate the hyper-cute aesthetic of her phone’s OS, as he types in his number into an all-pink phone screen before handing it back. 

“Jughead,” she stops him before he can turn away, touching her hand to his arm to keep him there. “Thank you for finding me here.” 

Jughead’s expression softens all at once. “I don’t really think it was me, I mean, I never believed in fate but,” he trailed off and then gave a long, big shrug. Before finally breaking off into a bit of a complacent smile. 

“I think I’ll always find you, Betty. No matter what I do.” Squeezing the hand touching his sleeve, before he reached and tugged her into a deep embrace. Naturally her arms fell around him, curling up into his larger frame and relishing in the rush of warmth that followed. 

The pace of her pulse aside, and the blush on her cheeks, Betty could only wave goodbye as they went to their separate trains.   
  
  
  


> **?** betty // **can i tell you a secret**
> 
>  
> 
> jughead // **anything, betty**
> 
>  
> 
> betty // **i want you to tie me up**
> 
>  

The red light district blinded them both, as they held tight onto each other’s hands to keep from being pulled apart by errant hosts, tourists and a rush of people dragging passerbys into their storefronts without much of the way in terms of consent. More of an eager pull of their arms and a few garbled words of an indistinct of Japanese and English, dragging them inside and away.

Flashing signs hung up above them endlessly in blinking neon and plasma, but Jughead tugged Betty in closer to him a moment in the midst of the crowd. 

“Don’t worry,” he murmured into her ear, near where the delicate curls of her hair, where his hand moved to brush it behind her back. Sweeping the elaborate mix of extensions, bows and time over her shoulder so he could touch his knuckles to her neck. “I’m not letting you go again, Betty.” 

A promise, met with a smile that was enough of a dangerous smirk at the corners to make Betty melt. Eyes fluttering closed, before she did the same with the distance between them; the world fell away, the packed crowd of murmurs silenced down as her hand reached to tug on the soft cotton t-shirt. Curling her hand as she pulled him in,

“Come on,” The low laugh wasn’t dismissive but rather unintentional all-together and torn from his lungs, but his eyebrows raised as Jughead could distinctly hear the embarrassed whispers of passersby at their vivid display. “Before they call the cops on us for indecency in the streets.” 

It’s easy to find the love hotels as they have the most ostentatious architecture on the block. Their decorations easily the most tacky; following the sight of Christmas lights and buildings made to look like boats, they checked out the menus plastered outside of the entrances. Laughing together at the themes they knew they wouldn’t be interested in; classroom role plays, skuzzy looking dungeons and casino themes that just didn’t scream their first time together. 

Jughead makes the decision, the location discreet if not for the small smattering of twinkle lights above the wooden door. “This one.” he urged, with his arm tucked around hers. They walk inside, into the main office where a woman is waiting behind a sheet of glass. The exchange is short but courteous, he pays in cash and speaks in polite Japanese before their keys are handed over. 

The inside of their room seems to be made of mirrors; the walls, the ceiling, and everything else is covered in their reflections and it’s almost dizzying at first to see them both from all angles immediately. In the middle of the room is a pink hot tub, the heart shape sweet and thoughtful to her as she lays a hand on the porcelain before sitting on the edge to look at the rest. 

The bed is covered in lush pink linens, heart shaped as well and under its own arrangement of mirrors. Dropping his bag onto the bag with a thud, it’s heavy with items he had brought with him for this meeting. 

The rope is beautifully pink as the rest of the room, a soft length of chord that looped onto the ground, and a second length of it still in his bag. Condoms, lube, and a few other plastic items she couldn’t quite make out yet. 

“I got it today before I came here. I thought it would look better than the red I had.” he explained, and then met her eyes. Up until then he had been expecting to find anxiety, or something worrisome that would cause him to want to stop. Instead he had found an eager kind of anticipation on her face, already reaching to touch her hands to the rope. 

“We should have a safe word.” Jughead stated, as he watched her handle the rope and loop it around her wrist experimentally. The sight of her pulling it tight and puppet her own hand made him bite his bottom lip hard.

“Hm,  _ sakura _ ?” Betty suggested, and that was enough to get started. Reaching across, he touched a hand to the accessory in her hand, waiting for verbal or non-verbal consent to keep going. When she shuddered at the touch, leaning into his touch, he reached to remove it from her hair. Tangling curious fingers into her curls, he anchors himself to kiss her again in the privacy of the room. 

Where it could bloom between their lips. Her body turning into his and his arms reaching to wrap around her shoulders. Taking the rope from her hands, she can feel it suspended behind her neck and the precursor to what’s happening makes her body start to thrum with excitement. 

“Ready?” he asks close to her lips, meeting her gaze with his own directly to gauge every part of her reaction. When he finds the hazy glow in her, he lets a grin break out onto his face as he makes the first loop around her. Then the next, then the first knot. 

It’s enough to make her hips squirm, the first knot in close to the frilly top he had yet to even remove from her. 

Betty pulled on the ropes at her shoulders, just to feel them constrict. Feeling them tug at her clothes and slide across her skin like a bite was enough to make her gasp and her mouth to go dry, but the feeling of Jughead securely tying the next knot behind her back went straight to shivers on the insides of her thighs. Looping it under her breasts, the rope slipping underneath the wire of her bra as the rope curled around her waist and arms tight.

Her wrists bound together next, and her balance finally tips into his hold as tension filled the rope in his hands. 

Jughead works at an impressive rate, crossing the rope over her body and binding her together. Until he gets to her knees; he nudges them apart gently and then slowly slides his fingertips across her shaking thighs. The anticipation wracking through her and making her impatient, but he ignores the pout that’s forming on her lips. 

Instead he reaches behind him, carefully sliding a steel bar underneath her legs. The cool metal sensation making her eyes flutter closed as Jughead tied her knees apart.

For a moment, he sits back and admires the sight of her; the splintered versions of her tied up body reflecting from the ceiling and walls as he reached into his bag. 

Lighting a cigarette first and foremost, he sucks it down deep before leaving it in the bedside ashtray,

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything this beautiful before, Betty.” Jughead says earnestly at the sight of her like this, leaning down to touch the skin near where the rope is pulling tightest; watching as the blood pools and moves about with the pressure from him. 

Reaching up after, he undoes the first button on her blouse. Fingers deftly in the frills down the center to pop them open. Working down the row, until he gets to where the rope is tying it to her body. Pushing it from her body to reveal her pert nipples, the half-dressed and increasingly dishevelled sight of her making his heart beat faster. 

He doesn’t think he’s been this hard before, either. 

“And I know just what I want to do with you now that I’ve got you here,” he says, and his fingertips are tracing up her legs, over her thinly clad nylon knees and to where her naked thighs were. Probing fingertips find their way to the frills of her panties; excitement sparks under his skin as he peels back layers and layers of lingerie to even get to the part of her body radiating a wet warmth with every twitch of her hips. 

Sliding them down to her knees, he replaces his fingertips with his mouth. The shaking in her limbs is something he can touch with his palms; the overwhelming mix of waiting and sensation, all amplified by the ropes keeping her limbs from actually moving at all. In fact all her body can do is shake. 

Moan, and shake. The first one released from her lungs as his breath comes into contact with where her blood has been rushing. Wet tongue just touching to the hypersensitive clit, her hips try and torque naturally but only fight against the taut ropes about her body instead. Whatever instinct there is to shy away from the intense experience is forcibly quieted, pushed down deep until it’s out of reach. 

Out of control, it’s something she doesn’t get to experience often. Staying with both hands on the wheel is a trait that she inhabits because of her survival instincts, but it had wound up something in her body so tight in places no massage or day spa could touch it any longer. Betty is certain that she’d been holding onto tightly to it since High School, and she can feel the ancient agony start to release as she lets slowly lets go little by little into the ropes. 

Into him, the feel of his fingertips crawling along the inside of her thigh to her stockings, finding the ropes and holding onto them tight. Then there’s his tongue, which swirls along her lips and then licks deeply, teasing and lapping at every intimate fold as he eagerly drank up every noise and strained movement he could get out of her. It took everything in him to keep from smiling as she cried louder, and her body tensed back up, so his knuckles stroked down the back of her leg and he slowly pulled away just to speak intimately,

“You’re doing amazing,” he praised her gently, taking a moment just to reach a kiss to her knee. “You can let go, babe. Just relax into the ropes...” Jughead’s words were low and assured, and so she did. All the tension that had been building in her body snapped at once and she let her spine go and legs relax into the bar. Betty would let each one of her orgasms build so, so slowly; and Jughead lapped each one of them up eagerly. 

He watches her pleasure as it kaleidoscopes in the walls and the ceiling; the mix of intricate lace of her clothing and the pink-faced desperation of multiple orgasms painted across Jughead’s lips and chin. 

Then her body relaxes again, as he teases slow aftershocks from her before slowly pulling away. For minutes he lets her stay in the ropes, drinking in the blissed out expression painted on her face for a while as he palms over the backs of her thighs slowly to keep physical contact,

Then he speaks, “Betty,” he keeps his voice quiet, and intimate. “Do you want the ropes undone?” 

For a minute, she says nothing. A smile blooming on her features which are completely paradoxical to the emotional tears welling up in her eyes. Wordlessly she pulls a little at the constraints, then pushes her face into one of the velvet pillows and nods from there. “...m-mhmm...” is all she can murmur softly.

So he does, undoing each of the knots for her with lingering touches. Releasing her until she melts into a pool of white and pink lace and trimming in his lap; where they will stay locked. Stroking her hair, her cheeks; pressing kisses to her hands and muttering praise at every turn while he did.

“You’re such a good girl.” he says before kissing her finally and moving her slowly from his lap, and that awakens enough of her to kiss him back; breaking a bit of the deep spell she had been sent under. As Betty starts to move, immediately his hands are on her shoulder and back to aid her,

“Should we make use of the bathtub while we’re here?” she suggested as her first verbalization, voice a little strained from all the moaning. 

Jumping up, he raced to start the bath and dump whatever bubbles they offered into the water. Returning to the bed only to reach down to her blouse again, and marvelled as all the layers slowly fell away. Every time he would slide another one off her body, Jughead would need a minute to take in the sight of her in just her petticoat. Then just her stockings, sliding his hands against her calves as he teased away the last layer of her clothes. 

“You’re going to overflow the tub,” she eventually had to point out, which had him running back to shut off the atrocious amount of bubbles he had spawned. Coming back, he offered a hand to her, leading her into the hot water.

He washed her hair for her, removing all the extensions before massaging the shampoo in, rinsing, and braiding it with the expertise of only someone with a younger sister; before long she was relaxed, and he was sitting on the edge of the tub with another lit cigarette in his lips. 

“Are you going to go anywhere?” It was difficult to make actual sentences for her, conversational wasn’t a strong suite when she was fighting against brain-melting sex and a level of subspace she had yet to even understand. Pushing all her anxieties away meant something had to replace it, and so far at least a good portion of it was mischief. Relaxing into the side of the tub, she peered up at Jughead with a curious, playful expression. 

“Me? You’re the one running off to Asia to model. Not even replying to our Facebook group chat, or Veronica’s many, many attempts to get ahold of you...” Jughead pointed out first, before taking a drag of his smoke. Waiting for a response from her, he got none and then continued with a motion of his shoulder,

“I’m not going anywhere,” Was his true reply. “Not if you’ll let me stay.” 

Betty put out his cigarette with her excessive, wet kiss that dragged him into the tub. Soaked hands coming up to grab onto his clothes. Half in the tub, not a noise of complaint left him as he returned it with four more; pressing his lips to hers as he tumbled into the bubbly water. 

“Stay.” Was all she had to say. 

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to @srainebuggie for beta'ing this for me.


End file.
